Archive of Our Own

Pairing: Yandere!Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

Genre: Dark fiction, Psychological, Yandere, Arranged marriage, Possessive romance

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings:

Dark content, non-con/dub-con implications, arranged marriage, power imbalance, emotional/psychological manipulation, obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, coercion undertones, gaslighting, forced proximity, breeding/forced heir trope, mind break, loss of autonomy, unhealthy relationship dynamics, emotional distress, disturbing behavior masked as affection.

Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to these topics.

AN: This piece explores very dark themes. If you're uncomfortable with yandere dynamics, manipulation, or psychological control, please skip this. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

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“so… you’re getting married?”

the question lingers in the air a second longer than it should, like even the wind outside your window has paused to listen. you don’t answer immediately. your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of your sleeve, fabric crumpling under your grip, before you finally nod.
“…yes.”
the word leaves your mouth flat, almost hollow—like it doesn’t belong to you.
for a moment, the boy standing in front of you says nothing. he just stares, his expression unreadable, and something inside you twists—tight, fragile, desperate. you wait. you don’t even realize you’re holding your breath.
then, suddenly, he smiles.
bright. easy. warm.
“i’m glad.”
the words land softly, but they hit harder than anything else could have.
seichi. your neighbor. your almost-something. your never-was.
he’s always been there—close enough to feel like home, yet just out of reach of anything more. his mother treats you like her own daughter, your family does the same with him. dinners together, shared festivals, laughter that blends too easily between both households. it was always meant to be simple.
sibling-like.
that’s what everyone calls it.
that’s what it was supposed to be.
and yet… somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling that way to you.
you knew it was wrong from the beginning—that quiet, stubborn feeling you never named out loud. you knew it wouldn’t end well. feelings like this never do. not when they’re built on something that was never meant to change.
and now—
now you’re standing here, telling him you’re getting married.
to someone else.
it almost feels ironic. cruel, even.
because some part of you—small, foolish, and clinging—had hoped for something. just a flicker. a pause. a crack in that easy smile of his. something that would tell you… you weren’t the only one who felt this way.
so you watch him carefully, searching.
but there’s nothing.
no hesitation. no discomfort. no hidden meaning tucked behind his words.
just that same smile.
and maybe that’s what hurts the most.
because in that moment, whatever fragile hope you had left is shoved back down your throat, where it belongs—unspoken, unseen, and unwanted.
you force your own lips to move, though you’re not sure what expression you’re trying to make anymore.
“…yeah,” you murmur, quieter this time.
—

marriage.
the word still doesn’t feel real.
and what’s even more absurd—almost laughable, if you think about it long enough—is that it’s not just to anyone.
it’s the gojo clan.
the gojo clan.
even now, repeating it in your head feels strange, like saying something you’re not meant to. your family—your entire clan—doesn’t even come close to theirs. the difference between you is almost embarrassing. power, status, influence… they exist on a completely different level.
so when they first told you, you didn’t believe it.
not even for a second.
they need an heir, they said.
an heir.
then why you?
that question still lingers, unanswered, curling uncomfortably in your chest.
out of everyone… why you?
a strange feeling settles deep in your stomach—uneasy, restless. maybe fear. maybe something else entirely. it’s hard to tell when everything feels so distant, like you’re watching your own life from somewhere far away.
but you didn’t ask.
you didn’t question it.
because the truth was… you didn’t have a choice.
not after everything that had happened.
not after your father.
the loss still lingers—heavy, suffocating, woven into every corner of your life whether you acknowledge it or not. with him gone, your clan didn’t just lose a person. it lost its pillar. its leader. its stability.
and now, all of that weight has quietly, inevitably, fallen onto you.
you could feel it in the way they looked at you.
in the hushed conversations that stopped the moment you entered a room.
in the careful, measured words that weren’t really requests—but expectations.
for the clan.
for everyone.
so when the proposal came—
no.
when the decision was made…
you agreed.
because what else were you supposed to do?
refuse?
and let everything crumble further?
even if it doesn’t feel right… you still said yes.
—
and so, things moved forward.
too fast.
to the point where the man you’re supposed to marry now visits you almost every day.
like it’s normal.
like this is normal.
he shows up without fail—always with something different. something new. a gift, sometimes. other times just himself, dressed differently, styled differently, like he’s trying out variations of the same idea.
yet somehow…
nothing about him ever really changes.
not that smile.
and not those black sunglasses resting so casually on his face, as if they’ve always belonged there.
the first time you saw him… it was—
strange.
that’s the only word you could find for it.
because how could someone’s hair be that white?
not dyed. not artificial. just… naturally that color, catching the light in a way that almost didn’t look real.
and yet, that wasn’t even the strangest part.
no.
the strangest part was this—
you were going to marry him.
the strongest.
satoru gojo.
and no matter how many times you repeat that to yourself… it still doesn’t feel right.
the ceremony is… overwhelming.
everything about it screams excess—layers upon layers of decoration, intricate patterns woven into silk drapes, gold-lined ornaments catching the light from every angle. the gojo clan has spared nothing. lanterns glow softly above, casting a warm sheen over the entire venue, while the air hums with low chatter and polite laughter.
people are smiling.
talking.
watching.
judging.
it all blends into a distant noise in your ears.
you stand beside satoru gojo, exactly where you’re supposed to be. dressed the way they want you to be. positioned perfectly, like a piece placed carefully into a larger design.
and yet—
you feel nothing.
no excitement.
no happiness.
not even nervousness that feels real.
just that same unease, sitting deep in your chest, heavy and unmoving.
your fingers rest stiffly at your side, barely twitching, as your gaze lowers to the ground. the polished floor reflects fragments of light, distorted and unclear—much like everything else around you.
a thought crosses your mind.
quiet.
unwanted.
this is it.
you’re stepping into something you don’t understand. into a life that doesn’t feel like yours. a role that was handed to you, not chosen.
a tool.
a means to an end.
used by them.
the idea settles in your head, slow and suffocating, threading itself through every other thought until it’s all you can hear.
you don’t even notice the way satoru’s gaze dips toward you—subtle, curious—from just over his shoulder. hidden behind those dark sunglasses, unreadable as ever, yet unmistakably there.
watching.
but you don’t look up.
you don’t see it.
the silence around you stretches—thick, almost cutting—until it’s suddenly broken.
“…you look beautiful.”
the voice is familiar.
too familiar.
your head lifts almost instinctively, the dull haze in your eyes clearing just a fraction as you turn—
and there he is.
seichi.
standing just a few steps away, dressed neatly for the occasion, fitting into the celebration as if it were always meant for him too.
for a second, you just stare.
then, slowly—
“…um… thank you.”
your voice comes out softer than intended, but it’s real. more real than anything you’ve said all day.
something shifts.
it’s small. subtle.
but it’s there.
your lips move before you can stop them, forming a faint smile—barely noticeable, yet undeniably present. it feels unfamiliar, almost out of place on your face, like something you haven’t worn in a while.
seichi notices.
of course he does.
“don’t mention it,” he says again, the same warmth in his tone as always, though quieter this time, more fitting for the moment.
there’s a brief pause between you—comfortable in a way nothing else here has been.
“i didn’t think it would happen this fast,” he adds lightly.
“…neither did i.”
a simple exchange.
short.
nothing significant.
and yet, for those few seconds, it feels like you can breathe again.
like you’re still yourself.
but it doesn’t last.
it never does.
voices begin to rise around you once more as the ceremony progresses, drawing attention back to where it belongs. movement stirs among the gathered crowd, signaling the next part of the celebration.
the moment ends just as quietly as it began.
seichi steps back, blending into the crowd, into the people, into everything that isn’t you.
and just like that—
you’re back where you started.
standing beside satoru.
as the two clans, once separate, now begin to merge into one.
the ceremony ends, but the weight of it doesn’t.
it lingers.
in the way your chest feels tight.
in the way your steps feel heavier as you walk away from everything you’ve ever known.
leaving your home behind is quieter than you expected.
no dramatic goodbyes. no tears loud enough to break the suffocating stillness. just a series of restrained smiles, careful words, and lingering glances that say more than anything spoken aloud ever could.
your family stands at a distance as you leave, their expressions composed—proud, even.
for the clan.
that’s what this is for.
you don’t look back for long.
because if you do… you might stop walking.
and you can’t do that.
not now.
not anymore.
—

the gojo estate is nothing like your home.
it’s larger. colder. built with a kind of quiet authority that doesn’t need to announce itself to be understood. every corridor feels endless, every detail precise, every presence within it… controlled.
and satoru—
satoru gojo is nowhere to be seen.
not beside you. not ahead of you. not even lingering somewhere in the background like before.
he’s just… gone.
as if the moment the ceremony ended, so did his role in it.
you’re left alone.
or at least, that’s what it feels like.
because even though you’re surrounded by people, by attendants and members of the clan guiding you through unfamiliar halls—you’ve never felt more out of place.
eventually, you’re led into a room.
spacious. formal. imposing.
and inside it—
they’re waiting.
the women of the clan.
mistresses. figures of status and quiet influence.
and at the center of them all…
his mother.
you can tell immediately.
not just from the way the others stand slightly behind her, but from the way she looks at you.
measured.
cold.
disapproving.
it’s subtle.
but unmistakable.
you lower your gaze instinctively as you approach, hands folding neatly in front of you, posture straight despite the tension settling into your shoulders.
there’s a pause.
a long one.
as if she’s taking her time… assessing you.
judging.
then, finally—
“you understand why you’re here, don’t you?”
her voice is calm.
controlled.
but there’s something beneath it—something sharp enough to cut.
you hesitate for a fraction of a second.
“…yes.”
but even as you say it, the answer feels incomplete.
because do you really?
a faint sound—almost like a hum—escapes her.
“good.”
she takes a slow step forward, the soft sound of her footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet room.
“then understand this clearly.”
her eyes settle on you fully now.
unwavering.
“you are not here because you were chosen.”
the words land heavier than expected.
“you are here because…. tch.”
your fingers tighten slightly against each other.
“i expect you to fulfill your role accordingly.”
a pause.
then, more directly—
“i want an heir.”
there it is.
no softness. no attempt to hide it behind pleasantries.
just the truth.
simple.
blunt.
final.
“to continue our bloodline. to carry forward the strength of this clan.”
her gaze doesn’t leave yours.
“do not forget your purpose.”
something in your chest sinks.
deep.
heavy.
so that’s it.
that’s all this is.
not a marriage.
not a life.
just a function.
a duty.
a body meant to carry something forward before being… what? forgotten? set aside?
your thoughts spiral quietly, the realization settling in fully now, stripping away whatever illusions you might have still held onto.
your life—
is no longer yours.
—

“she won’t stay here.”
the voice cuts through the room so suddenly, so effortlessly, that every head turns at once.
and yours follows a second later.
satoru gojo stands at the entrance.
as if he’s been there the whole time.
or maybe he just arrived.
it’s hard to tell.
he looks the same as always—relaxed, composed, that faint, almost playful smile resting on his lips. hands tucked casually into his pockets, posture loose, like he hasn’t just interrupted something important.
like none of this is serious.
but the room has gone still.
completely.
“…what do you mean?” his mother’s voice is sharper now, though still controlled. “the new mistress of the gojo clan will not reside within the estate?”
satoru hums lightly, tilting his head just a little—as if considering the question, even though his answer comes easily.
“she’ll live with me.”
simple.
casual.
final.
a faint crease appears between his mother’s brows.
“that is not how this works.”
“you want an heir, right?” he cuts in smoothly.
there’s no hesitation.
no tension in his tone.
just that same easy rhythm, like he’s discussing something trivial.
“we’ll provide you one.”
a pause.
then—
“but other than that…”
he takes a step forward.
then another.
closing the distance between you without effort.
“you can’t scare off my wife.”
the words are said lightly.
almost playfully.
like a joke.
but they settle into the room with weight.
before you can even process it, he leans down slightly—close enough that you can feel his presence shift the air around you.
close enough that your breath catches.
his head tilts, just enough for those dark sunglasses to angle toward your face, as if he’s trying to look at you more closely through them.
studying.
amused.
interested.
“…right?” he adds, softer this time.
your thoughts stumble over themselves.
confused.
thrown off.
because nothing about this makes sense.
not him.
not this situation.
not the way he’s speaking as if—
as if any of this matters to him.
you don’t answer.
you’re not even sure you can.
silence stretches for a brief moment longer.
then—
a quiet exhale.
his mother straightens, her expression smoothing over once more, though the tension hasn’t fully left her eyes.
she doesn’t argue.
doesn’t push further.
instead, she turns.
and walks out.
the other women follow soon after, one by one, until the room empties just as quickly as it had filled.
leaving you—
alone.
with him.
—

two weeks have passed.
not slowly. not quickly.
just… quietly.
as if your life has shifted without ever asking for your permission, and now you’re simply expected to keep up with it.
living with satoru gojo is nothing like you imagined.
not that you had imagined much to begin with.
but still—
this isn’t what you thought it would be.
the house is large, far too large for just two people. spacious halls that echo faintly with your footsteps, rooms that remain untouched for days, corners that never quite feel lived in. it doesn’t feel like a home.
it feels like a place you’ve been put in.
placed.
left.
because most of the time… he isn’t there.
satoru is barely home.
and when he is—
it’s late.
past midnight, most nights.
you hear it sometimes—the quiet click of the door, the faint shift in the air as he steps inside. soft footsteps that don’t try to hide themselves, yet somehow never demand attention either.
you never go out to greet him.
and he never asks you to.
the two of you exist in the same space, just… not at the same time.
and yet, occasionally—
there are moments.
small ones.
brief.
enough to remind you that he is there.
“you’re still awake?”
his voice drifts in from the doorway one night, casual, almost amused.
you glance up from where you sit, caught off guard by his presence. you hadn’t even heard him come in.
“…i couldn’t sleep.”
a simple answer.
he hums in response, stepping further into the room, that same easy smile resting on his lips like it always does.
“dangerous habit,” he says lightly. “staying up like that.”
you don’t respond.
not because you can’t—but because you don’t know how.
he lingers for a moment longer, watching you in that unreadable way of his, before letting out a quiet chuckle.
“try not to think too much. your head might burst.”
it sounds like a joke.
maybe it is.
maybe it isn’t.
before you can decide, he’s already turning away.
and just like that—
the moment ends.
nothing more.
nothing less.
that’s how it always is.
short conversations.
always started by him.
sometimes teasing, sometimes light, sometimes bordering on something you can’t quite name—but never crossing any line that would make it… real.
there’s no connection.
no closeness.
no attempt to build anything between you.
and yet—
your mind doesn’t stop.
it keeps circling back.
over and over again.
an heir.
the word lingers, louder in the silence than anything else.
it’s the reason you’re here.
the reason this marriage exists.
the reason everything changed.
so then…
why isn’t he doing anything?
why hasn’t he brought it up?
not once.
no pressure.
no conversation.
no expectation voiced out loud.
nothing.
you find yourself wondering—
doesn’t he care?
or is he simply… waiting?
the thought unsettles you.
because you don’t know which is worse.
it’s not like you’re desperate.
you’re not.
but this—
this is your purpose here.
the one thing that was made clear to you from the very beginning.
so why does it feel like you’re the only one thinking about it?
why does it feel like you’re the only one aware of what this marriage is supposed to be?
your thoughts drift further than they should.
into places you don’t want them to go.
because it’s impossible not to notice—
someone like him…
with that face.
that presence.
that power.
that name.
surely, he doesn’t lack attention.
if anything, he must be surrounded by it.
wanted.
desired.
chosen—again and again.
so maybe…
maybe this marriage doesn’t mean anything to him at all.
maybe it’s just another obligation.
another arrangement.
and outside of it—
maybe he already has what he wants.
someone else.
something else.
the idea settles in your chest, quiet but heavy.
you don’t have proof.
no confirmation.
nothing solid to hold onto.
just an assumption.
just a feeling.
and yet…
it feels real.
real enough that it makes your chest ache.
real enough that it lingers longer than it should.
because even after everything—
after knowing exactly what this marriage is…
what you are in it…
here you are.
still thinking about it.
still feeling something you probably shouldn’t.
—

“overthinking again?”
the voice cuts cleanly through your thoughts, pulling you back so abruptly that you almost flinch.
for a second, you don’t even remember where you are.
then it settles—
the couch beneath you.
the dim lighting of the room.
the quiet stillness that had wrapped around you before your mind wandered too far.
and him.
satoru stands right in front of you, as if he’s been there for a while now. one hand loosely holding a mug, faint wisps of steam curling upward from its surface.
warm milk.
you blink, still trying to gather yourself, before lifting your hand in a small, hesitant motion.
“eh… there was no need for it…”
your voice trails off slightly, uncertain, as if even you’re not fully convinced by your own words.
he doesn’t listen.
of course he doesn’t.
instead, he takes your hand without hesitation, fingers guiding it forward before wrapping it firmly around the mug. the warmth seeps into your skin instantly, grounding in a way you didn’t expect.
“oh, it’s definitely needed.”
his tone is light. playful. almost teasing.
like always.
before you can say anything else, he moves—dropping down beside you on the couch with an ease that feels far too natural. the cushion dips slightly under his weight as he leans back, stretching out comfortably as if this space belongs to him completely.
ofcourse it does. duh!
you sit a little straighter, the mug still held carefully between your hands.
there’s a brief silence.
you glance at him from the corner of your eye, but it doesn’t help.
it never does.
the blindfold remains in place, covering his eyes completely—just like always. he’s never taken it off in front of you. not once.
so you don’t know.
you don’t know what his eyes look like up close.
you don’t know if they’re really the way people describe them.
you don’t know what he’s thinking when he looks at you—if he’s even looking at you at all.
all you have is that smile.
and even that… doesn’t tell you much.
you lower your gaze again, bringing the mug closer as you take a small sip. the warmth spreads slowly, but it doesn’t quite reach the uneasiness sitting deep in your chest.
beside you, he shifts slightly, leaning more comfortably against the back of the couch.
then—
“did you admire someone before our marriage?”
the question comes out of nowhere.
casual.
unbothered.
like he’s asking about the weather.
your hand stills.
for a second, you think you misheard him.
“…what—?”
the word slips out before you can stop it, your brows knitting faintly as confusion flickers across your face. your thoughts scramble, trying to catch up with what he just said.
why would he—
“…uhmm… why did you ask that…?”
you manage after a moment, your voice carefully neutral despite the slight tension creeping in.
he doesn’t answer immediately.
in fact, he doesn’t answer at all.
he just… sits there.
leaning back, facing forward, his head tilted ever so slightly as if he’s looking at something far away—something only he can see.
or maybe nothing at all.
it’s impossible to tell.
a quiet pause stretches between you.
then—
he smiles.
that same easy, almost lazy smile.
“just curious, heh.”
light.
playful.
dismissive.
like it doesn’t matter.
like it was nothing more than a passing thought.
and yet—
something about it doesn’t sit right.
it should make you feel at ease.
it should.
but it doesn’t.
because you know—
you know that if anyone were to find out.
if anyone were to hear even a hint of it—
about your feelings.
about seichi.
about anything you’ve kept buried so carefully—
everything would fall apart.
“…no… i… don’t…”
the words come out uneven, quieter than you intended, but still steady enough to pass as casual. you keep your gaze forward, fingers tightening slightly around the mug as if that alone could anchor you.
beside you, satoru hums.
a low, thoughtful sound.
“hmm…”
and before you can process it—
he leans closer.
not suddenly. not sharply.
just enough to close the space between you, his presence shifting into yours with an ease that feels far too natural. there’s something almost playful in the way he tilts his head, like he’s inspecting you… studying the way your expression changes.
“ohh, yeah? yeah…” he drawls lightly. “doesn’t look like it.”
a soft laugh follows—easy, amused, completely unbothered.
your head snaps toward him, heat rushing to your face before you can stop it.
“geez— you’re wrong!”
you try to sound firm. normal. convincing.
but it falters.
just slightly.
enough to betray you.
because your face is warm—far too warm—and you can feel it, the way it spreads up to your ears, impossible to hide.
he notices.
satoru simply shrugs, the corner of his lips lifting into a small, knowing smirk, like he’s already decided something and your words don’t quite change it.
then, just as easily—
he moves on.
“the ring suits you.”
the shift is so sudden it leaves you blank for a second.
“…what?”
your eyes drop instinctively to your hand.
the ring.
resting there, unfamiliar yet impossible to ignore. the metal catches the light faintly, subtle but present—just like everything else in this life you’ve been pushed into.
for a moment, you just stare at it.
then your gaze lifts back to him, confusion flickering across your face, mixed with something softer. flustered. uncertain.
speechless.
you don’t know what to say.
he watches you for a second longer—just a second—before shaking his head lightly, as if amused by your reaction.
then he stands.
the couch shifts as his weight lifts, and he stretches slightly, arms moving above his head in a lazy motion. the fabric of his black shirt pulls just enough to outline the movement, casual and unbothered, like everything else about him.
“bedtime, wifey~”
the nickname rolls off his tongue far too easily.
too naturally.
“maybe read a story to me tonight?”
there’s that same playful tone again.
light.
teasing.
and yet—
you can’t tell.
you can’t tell if he’s joking.
or if he means it.
“…uhh—”
the sound leaves you before you can stop it, your thoughts stumbling over themselves, unable to catch up with the sudden shift once again.
you don’t answer.
you can’t.
instead, you stand quickly—almost too quickly—and turn away, heading toward the stairs without looking back.
your steps are a little too fast. a little too stiff.
you don’t stop.
not until you’re out of the room.
out of his presence.
and even then—
your heart doesn’t settle.
it keeps pounding, loud and uneven against your chest, echoing everything you’re trying not to think about.
his words.
his actions.
that look you couldn’t see—but still felt.
and beneath it all—
that lingering, quiet fear of being caught.
—

the next day feels… suffocating.
the same silence.
the same thoughts circling endlessly in your head.
and just like most days—
satoru isn’t home.
you’ve stopped expecting him to be.
so you leave.
not for any particular reason—at least, not one you can explain out loud. maybe to buy something. maybe just to walk. maybe just to breathe somewhere that doesn’t feel so… empty.
the air outside feels different.
lighter.
even if only a little.
you walk without thinking too much about where you’re going, letting your steps carry you forward as your mind drifts elsewhere.
to your family.
or rather—
the lack of them.
they haven’t contacted you much. not in the past days. a message here, a formal check-in there—but nothing more. nothing that feels real.
because they got what they wanted.
and that thought settles heavily in your chest.
you exhale softly, eyes lowering as you continue walking—
until something makes you pause.
a familiar figure.
your steps slow.
then stop.
“…seichi?”
the name leaves your lips before you can stop it.
seichi turns at the sound, and for a second, his expression mirrors your own surprise.
then he smiles.
the same way he always does.
“hey.”
like nothing has changed.
“are you… doing okay?”
the question is gentle, but it lingers.
you hesitate for just a second.
“…yeah. i’m fine.”
a practiced answer.
he watches you for a moment, as if trying to read something beneath it, before his smile softens slightly.
“come on,” he says, nodding toward a nearby café. “let’s sit for a bit.”
you should refuse.
maybe you know that.
but you don’t.
instead—
“…okay.”
—

the café is quiet enough to feel comfortable, yet busy enough to keep everything from feeling too still. a low hum of conversations fills the space, the clinking of cups and soft footsteps blending into the background.
you sit across from him.
and for the first time in what feels like days—
you talk.
not about anything heavy at first.
just small things.
familiar things.
moments from before. shared memories. the kind of conversations that flow easily, without effort, without tension.
time slips by without you noticing.
one topic turns into another, laughter slipping in between, soft and brief—but real.
then—
“i won’t be staying here much longer.”
the words come out casually.
almost too casually.
your fingers pause slightly around your cup.
“…what?”
seichi leans back a little, still smiling, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time.
“i’m leaving. going abroad.”
the world feels like it stills for a second.
just a second.
but it’s enough.
“…oh.”
that’s all you manage.
your expression shifts before you can stop it—subtle, but there. the color drains just slightly from your face, your thoughts catching up too slowly to form anything coherent.
leaving?
he’s leaving?
the one person who—
your chest tightens.
but you say nothing more.
because what can you say?
it’s not like you had anything to begin with.
not really.
the feeling was yours.
always yours.
so you nod.
slowly.
“…that’s… good.”
your voice is quieter now.
“good for you.”
you force a small smile, even if it doesn’t quite feel right.
“i hope everything goes well.”
he smiles back, softer this time.
“yeah. me too.”
—

by the time you glance at the clock, it’s already late.
6:43 pm.
your eyes widen slightly.
“i should go—”
the words come out quickly as you stand, the chair scraping lightly against the floor. he follows soon after, walking with you toward the exit.
outside, the air feels cooler.
quieter.
you stop near the entrance, turning slightly toward him.
“take care,” you say softly.
he nods.
“you too.”
a brief pause.
then—
“honey~… c’mon, we’re getting late for dinner.”
the voice comes from behind you.
familiar.
too familiar.
you freeze.
then slowly turn.
so does seichi.
and there he is.
satoru stands just a few steps away, tall, composed, that same faint smile resting on his lips like always. his presence alone shifts the atmosphere—subtle, but undeniable.
your breath catches slightly.
you take a small step back without realizing it.
he notices.
that smirk deepens just a little.
then his attention shifts.
turning toward seichi.
“ah…” he tilts his head slightly, as if thinking. “i’ve seen you somewhere.”
a pause.
“at the ceremony, maybe?”
his tone is light. playful.
seichi nods politely.
“yes. i was there.”
a brief hesitation.
“i’m her… brother.”
the word lingers.
satoru hums softly, as if considering it.
“ahh… brother?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “i didn’t know her clan had any sons.”
there’s no edge in his voice.
no accusation.
just curiosity.
and yet—
it feels like something more.
seichi shifts slightly, quick to clarify.
“our families are just… close. we grew up together.”
another pause.
then—
“i see.”
satoru’s head turns back toward you, his tone quieter now—almost thoughtful.
but it doesn’t last.
because the next second, that same easy smile is back in place.
“well, we’re getting late… right, wifey?”
the word lands lightly.
too lightly.
he doesn’t wait for your response.
just turns—already moving.
and you follow.
but not before glancing back one last time.
seichi stands where you left him, raising a hand in a small wave, that same familiar smile on his face.
unchanged.
you hold the look for a second longer.
then turn away.
and walk.
each step heavier than the last, something sinking deep in your chest—quiet, unspoken, and impossible to ignore.
—

by the time you return home, the weight in your chest hasn’t eased.
if anything, it feels heavier.
the silence inside the house greets you the same way it always does—unchanged, still, almost suffocating. your steps slow as you enter, fingers curling slightly at your sides as if you’re trying to hold yourself together.
you don’t feel like talking.
you don’t feel like doing anything.
and yet—
you still speak.
“i’m sorry…” your voice comes out softer than intended, barely above a murmur. you don’t quite look at satoru gojo as you continue, “…could you… please eat dinner yourself? i’m not feeling hungry.”
it sounds polite.
controlled.
like nothing is wrong.
but it doesn’t wait for a response.
because you don’t stay.
you turn, heading upstairs before he can say anything—before you can hear anything.
leaving him behind.

—

the moment the door closes, whatever composure you were holding onto slips.
you drop onto the bed, face-first, arms folding beneath you as you press into the sheets. the fabric crumples under your weight, the faint scent unfamiliar yet present.
you shouldn’t feel like this.
you know that.
and yet—
you do.
your thoughts drift back again, to something you shouldn’t be holding onto anymore. something that was never yours to begin with.
and still—
it hurts.
a soft knock breaks through the silence.
you stiffen.
immediately pushing yourself up, you sit straight, quickly brushing your hair back as if that alone could make you look normal.
“come in.”
the door opens.
satoru steps inside, as casual as ever, holding two cups in his hands. a faint warmth rises from them—some kind of shake, still fresh.
he takes a few steps in, stopping just enough to look at you.
“now, now… what’s with the dull face?” he hums lightly. “i thought you had fun out there.”
there’s a teasing edge to it.
you look away.
avoiding it.
“…where…? no, i’m fine,” you say, a little too quickly. “just tired.”
he hums again.
like he doesn’t quite believe you.
then, without hesitation, he walks over and sits beside you on the bed. the mattress dips under his weight as he hands one of the cups to you, taking a sip from his own.
“uh huh…”
a pause.
“still… you somehow look bothered.”
your fingers tighten slightly around the cup.
he tilts his head, as if thinking.
“…did that friend—” a brief pause, then a soft, amused correction, “—oops, brother… say something mean to you?”
“he would never—”
the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
sharp.
immediate.
and the moment they do—
silence.
you freeze.
he stills.
for just a second.
then—
that smirk spreads slowly across his face.
wider than before.
“hmm… so responsive, i see.”
your expression falters, realization hitting too late as heat creeps up your face again.
“…i—”
but you don’t get to finish.
“c’mon now,” he cuts in lightly, nudging the cup in your hands just a little. “drink up and forget about it.”
his tone is easy.
playful.
like none of that mattered.
and maybe to him… it didn’t.
you exhale softly, shoulders dropping just a fraction as you bring the cup closer, taking a slow sip.
the taste barely registers.
because your mind is still elsewhere.
even with him sitting right beside you—
it lingers somewhere else entirely.
—

and then—
things change.
subtly.
but noticeably.
since that night…
you start to notice it.
satoru is home.
not just occasionally.
not just late at night.
but… actually home.
present. around you.
all the time.
at first, it feels strange.
then—
it starts to feel… overwhelming.
he follows you around the house like it’s the most natural thing in the world. standing too close when you’re doing chores, leaning against doorframes just to watch you, sometimes stepping in to help without being asked.
other times—
he just messes with you.
teasing.
laughing.
interrupting whatever you’re doing with something pointless, something unnecessary—just to get a reaction out of you.
and sometimes—
he helps.
actually helps.
like a… husband.
if that’s what you’re supposed to call it.
doting.
attentive.
it’s…
weird.
and somehow—
suffocating.
because while he’s here—
you’re not where you want to be.
your thoughts keep pulling you back.
outside.
to the streets.
to a certain house.
to seichi who might not even be there anymore.
you want to check.
just once.
to know.
but you can’t.
you can’t explain it.
not to him.
not to anyone.
well… you tried.
once.
“it’s been a while since i’ve met my family…” you had said, keeping your voice steady.
it wasn’t even a lie worth telling.
because your family hadn’t asked for you.
hadn’t reached out.
hadn’t cared enough to.
and yet—
you tried.
but satoru had only smiled.
“alright,” he said easily. “let’s go together.”
and just like that—
it failed.
—

now, you stand by the table, folding laundry in quiet rhythm. fabric over fabric, your hands moving on their own as your thoughts drift again.
until—
you hear him.
footsteps.
approaching.
you glance up slightly as he steps into the room, his presence filling the space like always. he moves closer, fidgeting with his hands in an oddly restless way—almost like a child trying to get attention, except there’s nothing small about him.
you pause.
“…what’s wrong?”
he shifts slightly, then raises his hand.
“…it accidentally fell.”
your eyes follow the movement.
the ring.
resting in his palm.
“…could you help me put it back on?”
you blink.
“…huh?”
confusion flickers across your face.
“why can’t you put it yourself?”
a beat.
“i can’t…”
he pauses.
“…that’s why.”
the tone.
the hesitation.
the way he says it—
it’s almost convincing.
almost.
but you can tell.
he’s playing with you again.
you sigh softly, setting the folded clothes aside before stepping closer. your fingers reach out, taking the ring from his hand, cool against your skin.
“give me your hand,” you mutter.
he does.
without hesitation.
you guide the ring toward his finger—
but just as you’re about to slide it on—
“…uh… i… don’t think it’s gonna fit,” he murmurs softly.
you pause.
“what—?”
“could you be gentle, please?~”
there it is.
that tone.
soft.
mocking.
barely held back amusement laced through it.
you press your lips together, choosing to ignore him as you try again.
carefully.
slowly.
the ring begins to slide into place—
“aah~ slow down.”
you freeze.
did he just… moan?
then immediately pull your hand back, startled, your face flushing instantly.
“geez!! stop messing with me!!”
the words burst out before you can stop them.
your heart racing.
your thoughts scrambling.
you don’t stay.
you turn sharply, stepping away—then out of the room entirely, your footsteps quick and uneven as you leave him behind once again.
—

you shouldn’t have acted that way.
the thought settles in quietly, but it stays.
it lingers long after you’ve left the room, long after your heartbeat slows, long after the embarrassment fades into something heavier—something more grounded.
because no matter how you feel… the truth doesn’t change.
you’re married now.
to satoru.
and you’re here for a reason.
a purpose that was made clear from the very beginning.
an heir.
today.
tomorrow.
it doesn’t matter.
it’s inevitable.
so you adjust.
slowly.
carefully.
you tell yourself to calm down. to stop reacting so much. to just… go with it.
and you do.
for the rest of the day.
then the next.
and the next.
days blend into each other. then a week.
and somewhere in between—
you start getting used to him.
at least… you think you do.
it’s not something you notice immediately.
it happens quietly.
subtly.
you find yourself staying in the same room as him longer than necessary. responding more easily when he talks. not pulling away as quickly when he leans too close.
sometimes—
you even laugh.
softly.
barely there.
but it’s real.
your hands stay busy—folding, cutting, arranging—while his voice fills the space with light commentary, random remarks, things that don’t really matter but somehow keep the silence away.
you don’t realize it.
not yet.
that you’re getting comfortable.
that something is shifting.
—

the moment breaks with the sound of your phone ringing.
you pause, hands stilling mid-motion.
so does he.
the faint rhythm of his voice cuts off as you glance at the screen.
unknown number.
you hesitate for a second before answering.
“…hello?”
there’s a brief pause.
then—
a familiar voice.
“ah, hello, dear… it’s me.”
your expression shifts slightly.
seichi's mother.
your grip tightens just a little around the phone.
you don’t know how she got your number.
but that’s not your immediate concern.
your eyes flicker briefly toward satoru.
still there.
still close.
listening?
you don’t know.
so you straighten slightly, forcing your tone to stay normal.
“oh—how are you?” you say, keeping it light. casual. “it’s been a while.”
“i’m doing well,” she replies warmly. “and so is everyone else. i hope you are too.”
“…yes,” you answer. “i’m fine.”
there’s a small pause.
then—
“i actually wanted to ask you something.”
your chest tightens, just slightly.
“…yes?”
“it’s about seichi.”
the name alone is enough to make your fingers stiffen.
your gaze drops.
“i was wondering if you knew…” she continues, her tone shifting just a little, “that he’s moved abroad. he’s settled there now.”
you pause.
just for a second.
“…um… yes,” you manage, your voice quieter. “i… i did. we talked… for the last time, so…”
there’s a brief silence on the other end.
“really?” she says, a little surprised. “then you must know…”
a beat.
“…that he did it for a woman.”
everything stops.
“i—and the others—we didn’t really like it,” she continues with a sigh. “him getting involved with a foreigner… it just doesn’t sit right with us.”
your grip on the phone loosens slightly.
your thoughts—
they don’t quite catch up.
“that’s why he hasn’t been picking up our calls,” she adds. “he’s avoiding us. could you… maybe talk to him? i’ll give you his number—”
her voice continues.
but you don’t hear it.
not really.
because—
what?
him…?
with someone else?
already?
and you—
you didn’t know?
not even a hint?
all those years. all those feelings you never spoke out loud, never acted on—
and he—
your chest tightens sharply.
your mind goes blank.
you don’t even realize when your finger moves.
the call ends.
just like that.
silence.
—

“…hey.”
the voice comes from nearby.
calm.
casual.
satoru is still in the kitchen, where you left him, hands halfway through peeling beans.
“come back and help me?”
it sounds normal.
like nothing happened.
but you—
you don’t respond.
because you’re not there.
not fully.
your thoughts are still somewhere else entirely, tangled in something you don’t even want to name.
“oi.”
he calls again.
still light.
still easy.
no response.
a pause.
then—
“y/n?”
that’s when it hits.
you blink.
reality snaps back into place.
your head turns slightly, as if pulled back by force.
he’s looking at you now.
head tilted just a little.
a faint, sly smile resting on his lips.
watching.
your hands clench slightly at your sides, nails pressing into your palms as you force everything down.
every reaction.
every emotion.
every thought threatening to surface.
you swallow.
then step forward.
back into the kitchen.
back into place.
like nothing happened.
—

it comes like a dream.
blurry at first.
then clearer—
you see him.
seichi standing right in front of you, just like before. the same familiar face, the same presence that once felt like comfort.
but something is wrong.
his expression isn’t soft.
it isn’t warm.
it’s… disappointed.
“fool.”
the word cuts through you.
sharp. cold.
before you can react, he turns.
and starts walking away.
“no—wait—”
your voice cracks as you reach out, your fingers barely brushing against empty air as you try to follow him.
“brother…!”
you call his name again, louder this time, desperation bleeding into your voice as your steps stumble forward. your vision blurs, tears gathering faster than you can stop them.
“don’t go—please—”
but he doesn’t stop.
doesn’t turn back.
and no matter how fast you move, the distance only grows.
your chest tightens painfully.
your hand reaches out again—
“seichi—!”
—

“what did you say…?”
the voice is different.
not his.
sharp.
low.
enough to slice through everything.
your eyes snap open.
the dream shatters instantly.
you gasp softly, breath uneven, your mind still caught between sleep and reality as confusion floods in. your surroundings feel unfamiliar for a split second, your thoughts slow, heavy—
until they settle.
and you realize—
you’re not alone.
your body tenses.
because—
satoru gojo.
too close.
far too close.
your breath hitches as your gaze drops—
and everything registers at once.
the position.
the proximity.
the way one of your legs is draped loosely over his broad shoulder, your body half-shifted without you even realizing when or how it happened.
your heart lurches.
“w-what—”
you try to sit up, instinctively pulling back, your hands moving to steady yourself as panic flickers through you.
“satoru—wait—this isn’t—”
your words come out rushed, tangled, your mind scrambling to explain—anything, everything—before something worse happens.
because right now, that’s all that matters.
clearing it.
fixing it.
explaining why you said that name.
why you—
but he doesn’t move.
doesn’t pull away.
if anything—
he stays exactly where he is.
still.
watching.
and you can’t see his eyes.
the blindfold is still there.
but it doesn’t matter.
because you can feel it.
the shift.
the atmosphere around him isn’t the same.
not playful.
not teasing.
it’s—
heavy.
“...so…”
his voice is quieter now.
but not soft.
there’s something underneath it. something rough. something edged.
“...you’ve got a brother complex?”
the words come out slow.
measured.
mocking.
and yet—
there’s no humor in it.
not really.
it doesn’t sound like him.
not the version you’ve gotten used to.
this—
this feels different.
colder.
sharper.
scarier.
and for the first time—
you’re not confused about him.
you’re afraid.
—

your pulse races wildly in your ears as you twist against the sheets, trying to slide your leg free from his shoulder and scramble back toward the headboard.
the fabric bunches under your palms, slick with a faint sheen of sweat from the dream's lingering haze, but before you can gain any distance, his hand clamps down on your thigh with a grip like iron—unyielding, sudden strength surging through his fingers in a way you've never felt from him before.
it's not the casual hold of playfulness; this is deliberate, possessive, pinning your leg in place as your body jerks in futile resistance, muscles straining against the unexpected force that roots you to the mattress.
“answer me,” he demands, his voice dropping to a gravelly edge that vibrates through the air between you, cold and unyielding as his thumb digs into the soft flesh of your inner thigh, just enough to make you wince.
“how do you feel about letting everyone know that the mistress of the gojo clan is crushing over her brother? how shameless.”
the words lash out, laced with a biting sarcasm that twists the knife deeper, his blindfold hiding whatever storm brews beneath but doing nothing to mask the menace in his tone.
you open your mouth to protest, words tumbling out in a frantic rush—“satoru, it was just a dream, i didn’t mean—seichi’s not like that, it’s not what you think—” but he cuts you off with a sharp hiss, his grip tightening fractionally, silencing your explanations before they can fully form.
he won’t listen, won’t let you claw your way out of the misunderstanding; the air thickens with his disregard, your pleas dissolving into the heavy silence he enforces.
his free hand trails upward along your thigh now, fingers splaying wide in a caress that's deceptively light—almost tender, if not for the underlying threat that makes your skin prickle.
the touch skims higher, brushing the sensitive crease where leg meets hip, sending an involuntary shiver through you as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.
“do you know how long i’ve held back myself,” he murmurs, the sarcasm dripping like venom, each word slow and deliberate, “just to hear you calling out someone else’s name? i’m hurt.”
the last part lands with a mocking lilt, but there's no mistaking the scary undercurrent, the way his voice roughens with feigned vulnerability that feels like a trap, his fingers pressing firmer into your skin as if to mark the betrayal he's inventing.
then, as abruptly as it started, his hand lifts from your thigh, leaving a ghost of heat in its wake, and he shifts his weight, looming over you fully now—his tall frame casting a shadow that engulfs your body, the mattress dipping under his knees as he straddles your hips without mercy.
the blindfold remains in place, but his presence dominates, suffocating, as one hand drops to the front of his grey pants, palm rubbing over the growing bulge there with unhurried strokes.
you can see the outline of his cock hardening under the fabric, thick and insistent, the material tenting as he caresses himself through it, a low hum escaping his throat at the friction.
his hips roll subtly, grinding into his own touch, before he leans forward, pressing that rigid length closer to your face—close enough that you feel the warmth radiating through the cloth, the faint musk of his arousal seeping into the air as the zipper strains against his erection.
“so,” he says, voice husky and edged with that same terrifying sarcasm, his free hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head up toward him, forcing your gaze to linger on the prominent swell inches from your lips, “how would you like to make it up to me?”
your lips part, more words spilling out in a desperate bid to salvage the moment, to weave some explanation that might soften the steel in his posture.
“satoru, please, listen—it was nothing, just a stupid dream, i swear, it doesn’t mean anything—” but he shakes his head once, sharply, the blindfold shifting slightly as his fingers tighten in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to cut off your plea, his expression unreadable yet radiating that cold finality that brooks no argument.
“c’mon,” he drawls, the sarcasm curling around the word like smoke, his hand still palming the thick ridge of his cock through the grey fabric, the heat of it pulsing under his touch as he rubs slower, more deliberately, letting you watch the way it strains harder against the confines.
“you can do this, at least, for me—after stretching your cunny for the past days. i’m kinda surprised you didn’t realize. guess you were too focused on him, huh?”
his voice dips lower on the last part, mocking and edged with that scary undercurrent, the implication hanging heavy in the air like a threat wrapped in velvet. “now, do you want me to tell your little secret to everyone?”
the words hit like ice water, stunning you into silence, your eyes widening in raw fear and unease as the full weight of his knowledge crashes down—the secret you’ve buried deep, the one that could unravel everything if exposed.
your breath catches, chest heaving, a cold sweat breaking out along your spine as panic claws at your throat, visions of whispers and judgments flooding your mind unbidden.
before you even realize it, the plea tumbles from your lips in a broken whisper, “no—satoru, please, don’t—don’t tell anyone, i beg you—” your voice cracks, hands trembling as they clutch at the sheets, the vulnerability stripping you bare under his looming presence.
he laughs then, a childish burst of sound that echoes oddly in the tense room—light and boyish on the surface, but laced with something darker, more unhinged, like the crackle of lightning before a storm.
it sends a shiver racing down your arms, and without another word, he releases his grip on his pants just long enough to tug the zipper down with a slow, deliberate rasp, freeing his cock from the confines. it springs out, heavy and thick, the flushed length bobbing slightly in the air, veins prominent along the shaft, the tip already glistening with a bead of precum that catches the dim light.
he presses it against your cheek, the hot, velvety skin dragging warm and insistent across your flushed flesh, the musky scent of his arousal filling your senses, making your face burn hotter, flustered heat blooming in your cheeks and spreading down your neck as your body betrays you with a traitorous throb between your thighs.
hesitation grips you, your lips pressing into a thin line as you turn your head slightly away, but his hand in your hair guides you back, firm and unyielding, tilting your face until the slick head nudges at the corner of your mouth.
“open up,” he murmurs, voice roughened with command, his thumb tracing your lower lip to coax it apart, the touch sending sparks of unwanted tension coiling in your gut.
you part your lips reluctantly, tongue darting out in uncertainty, and he pushes forward, the broad crown sliding past your teeth to rest heavy on your tongue, the salty tang of him flooding your mouth as you tentatively close around it, sucking lightly, your movements awkward and unsure.
“that’s it,” he breathes, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his hips shift, feeding more of his cock into the wet heat of your mouth, the girth stretching your jaws wide. his fingers tighten in your hair, guiding your head with shallow thrusts, showing you the rhythm—deeper now, the shaft gliding over your tongue, bumping the back of your throat as you gag softly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intrusion.
“properly—use your tongue, swirl it around like that,” he instructs, voice husky and edged with that terrifying control, his free hand cupping your jaw to hold you steady as he rocks forward, fucking your mouth with measured strokes that build the slick sounds of saliva and skin filling the room. you obey, hollowing your cheeks, lapping at the underside with hesitant flicks that grow more fervent under his guidance, the tension thickening as his cock throbs against your palate, precum leaking steadily to coat your throat.
his pace quickens, breaths coming sharper, hips snapping with restrained force until his body tenses, a guttural sound escaping him as he comes—hot spurts flooding your mouth, thick and bitter, forcing you to swallow convulsively around him.
you pull back as he allows it, gasping and coughing, strings of saliva and cum connecting your swollen lips to his softening length, your chest heaving as you wipe at your mouth with the back of a trembling hand, the taste lingering sharp on your tongue.
he caresses your hair locks then, fingers threading gently through the disheveled strands, the touch almost soothing in its contrast to the roughness before, as he murmurs low and intimate, “i’ll make you forget about him, yeah.”
you look up at him, eyes teary and blurred, the salt of your own tears mixing with the remnants on your lips as confusion and regret swirl inside you. “why?” you whisper, voice hoarse from the abuse, before the apologies spill out in a rush. “i’m sorry for hiding it—please, stop, i won’t think of seichi anymore, i promise—”
but satoru just pulls back slightly, his hands moving to the edge of his blindfold, fingers hooking under the fabric as he says, “it’s too late now. just so you know…”
he pauses, the words hanging like a guillotine, before removing them completely, letting the cloth fall away to reveal those piercing blue orbs, glinting with a cold, predatory light that pins you in place, stripping away any illusion of mercy.
“i didn’t kill your father for no reason.”

ig: crazykinkiwi